


The Dawning of the Day

by Lexin



Category: Desert Peach
Genre: Humour, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-29
Updated: 2010-08-29
Packaged: 2017-10-11 08:05:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/110226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lexin/pseuds/Lexin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rosen Kavalier has a very bad night. Only one thing can put it right.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Dawning of the Day

The Dawning of the Day

by Cerise.

Oberleutnant Rosen Kavalier drove the Kübel up the pass towards the escarpment with even more recklessness than usual. It had been a long hard night flying his Stuka above the deserts of Northern Africa, but still adrenaline zinged through him, allowing him no rest. It had been a god-awful night, he wanted sex and he wanted it now. He licked his lips at the thought.

Night was retreating, turning into bright morning and he hoped that he wouldn't be too late. If his quarry had already risen there would be little chance of gaining the relief he needed so badly. His cock twitched, thinking of it. You bet, he thought, it'll happen. Though knowing the 469th Half-track, Support and Grave-digging Battalion there could be a thousand and one reasons why it wouldn't. And he knew if it didn't he would be driven to 'The Cedars' again to seek it there.

He left the Kübel at the motor-pool, and moved through the camp. The men were beginning to stir, he saw some drinking their morning brews. One or two looked at him as he passed, but he was well-known enough here that he was not challenged.

Pfirsich's orderly was just up, looking unshaven and dirty. "Oberleutnant Kavalier?" the little man asked. "Would you like some tea?" The low voice in which he asked the question showed that his master must still be asleep. Good.

Instead of answering, the Oberleutnant asked, "Holla, Schmidt! Is he well?"

"Well enough, Herr Oberleutnant. Tea?"

Rosen had no time for civilities at the best of times and this wasn't even remotely the best of times. "Just see to it that we aren't disturbed."

"Certainly, Herr Oberleutnant. But if I miss breakfast, so do you."

The dark inside the field tent was not quite complete. Pfirsich's black jacket and peach-coloured breeches lay neatly folded on a camp stool beside the bed. He stood over the figure on the bed and looked for a time. He couldn't help it, Pfirsich looked so lovely asleep, his blond hair was tousled from the night and there was a slight growth of stubble on his pretty face. As Rosen watched Pfirsich turned onto his belly, showing his lithe back, Rosen marvelled again that despite being in the middle of a desert in a war zone he always appeared so clean. He looked down on the well-muscled body with anticipation.

This was his. His own. Rosen had never got over his delight that something was his at long last, let alone someone as lovely as Manfred Pfirsich Marie Rommel.

Rosen slid off his coat and jacket. Clothes just got in the way of sex. He loosened the waistband of his trousers, opened his shirt, leaned over the prone man and grabbed one buttock. Pfirsich yelped loudly.

"Hallo, Süßer!"

"Rosen! Rosen darling, what are you doing here?" Pfirsich protested. He turned onto his back, holding the blankets up to his chin as if they might offer some protection. They didn't. Rosen landed flat on Pfirsich, holding him down with careless efficiency - and the advantage of surprise. Pfirsich struggled. Knowing he was strong enough to throw Rosen off, Rosen distracted him with a quick grope.

"Darling!"

"You were expecting someone else?" Rosen smiled, not entirely nicely.

Instantly guilty, Pfirsich moved beneath him as if trying to rise, "No of course not. I should get up, the men will be needing me."

"What for? Are you needed to hold their Pimmel while they go to the latrine?"

"Don't be crude, Rosen." Pfirsich tried again to sit up. "What if someone comes in and finds us like this?"

"They won't," he said with his usual careless confidence. "I asked Schmidt to make sure we aren't disturbed."

"Udo? He might have to go and..."

"Who cares what short-shit has to do? We've talked long enough." He leaned forward and subjected Pfirsich's mouth to a thorough mauling. At first Pfirsich resisted, but finally he relented and returned the kiss with equal fervour. Rosen wrestled the blankets away from their owner's tight grip and dropped them on the floor. They would get sandy, but Pfirsich would just have to live with that.

When they stopped for breath Pfirsich asked again: "What are you doing here, Rosen? Are you absent without leave again?"

Rosen answered after a moment. "Something like that. We had a bad night; I needed to see you." It had taken him months to learn to answer Pfirsich's questions, and answer them honestly.

Sympathy was ready, immediate and sincere, "Oh! Rosen darling, I'm sorry."

Conscience did not normally trouble Rosen, but just occasionally he wondered if any of his British relatives were in the enemy columns that he bombed on a nightly basis. It was something he would admit to no-one. Pfirsich was an escape from all that, a reality that was incontrovertibly his.

The knowledge made him yet more desperate, he needed to touch and to hold. He wouldn't be denied and resumed his assault on Pfirsich's mouth, fondling him as he did so, and then pulled back slightly to give him access to the belly and the large cock.

"Don't do that!" Pfirsich shrieked, when he was allowed to breathe again. "Not here! Rosen, we can't! Oooh!"

"Where's your spirit of adventure?"

"I have enough adventure in my life without courting disaster here! What if someone should come in?"

"They won't." He'd hang Schmidt if he let anyone in. "Besides, who's going to be surprised?"

"Yes, darling. But a little more discretion, please."

"No-one will come in. And if they do, I'll shoot 'em!"

Rosen had long ago discovered that Pfirsich could not resist a determined onslaught, Pfirsich's own desires were his worst enemy. He held on to Pfirsich tightly, not above using force to get his own way, not allowing him to think of reasons why this shouldn't happen, allowing his conscience no respite. Pfirsich was hard, Rosen took hold of the large cock roughly, hearing Pfirsich cry out helplessly as it was handled, pulled at it with a vigour that was just short of painful.

"Rosen! Melvin, not so rough!"

Pfirsich rarely used Rosen's real name and hearing it Rosen calmed a fraction, enough so that Pfirsich didn't cry out - much - when Rosen moved back and slipped a finger into him. "Oh!" Rosen moved it roughly, harsh as always, telling him rather than asking him, "You need this!"

"Yes!"

Implacably he held Pfirsich, turning him while he brought his cock up into place and then pushing inside. Pfirsich might look fragile but though that didn't fool Rosen for a minute, it had taken Pfirsich time to accustom himself to his roughness.

Rosen came to orgasm quickly, the friction of the tight passage maddening him, then turned Pfirsich onto his back, sucking the large cock in, tonguing and sucking hard and fiercely until Pfirsich cried out. Pfirsich lay on his back gasping for breath; Rosen leaned over and kissed him, but with less violence.

"I hope no-one heard us," murmured Pfirsich, with a guilty glance at the tent flap.

"I don't care if they did."

"But I do. I have to command this unit, and it's hard enough as it is. It's a pointless risk."

"Fun, though." Rosen pinned his lover beneath him, kissing him once more.

When released, Pfirsich said, "Oh Rosen, Schatz Liebster. Why must you take such risks?"

Rosen had no time to answer; there was a noise from outside, then Schmidt's voice, "Tea, Herr Oberst? And Oberleutnant Kavalier? Herr Oberst, your brother is approaching the camp."

Pfirsich sighed, and stood up, rather shakily reaching for a washcloth. Once again his question had gone unanswered.

Pfirsich had expected that once washed and dressed Rosen would leave, return to his Luftwaffe unit a few miles away, but he seemed in no hurry. Udo found breakfast for Erwin, Rosen and Pfirsich himself. General Rommel had come to explain his supply needs to his brother once again. Though Pfirsich understood them well enough he listened dutifully and took notes, tapping his pen against his teeth whenever he hit a problem. He knew, however, that there would be no solution to the General's supply difficulties until the Navy could stop the allies sinking the cross-Mediterranean shipping from Italy, but of course everything had to be done to alleviate the situation in the meantime.

"I have to go," Erwin said at last. "Thanks for the breakfast, Schmidt."

Pfirsich smiled. He always valued Erwin's courtesy, he felt the men under his command deserved no less.

"Pleased, Herr General," said Udo, grinning, flattered.

Moving at his usual breakneck speed, Erwin Rommel left the camp; Pfirsich watched him go with brotherly affection.

In watching Erwin go he had lost sight of Rosen and regretted that the chance to say goodbye had been missed. Suppressing a moment of longing he began the morning inspection, he walked down the escarpment to the motor pool at the bottom. There was no-one about and Pfirsich frowned, he would have to have a word with Major Rauschling, his XO, about that.

He made a quick inspection of the vehicles, tapping each wheel with his riding crop, you could never be certain of them having them all in this unit. He walked between the stolen British lorry and the half-track, and he kicked the lorry's tyres experimentally, they looked a bit flat. Suddenly a hand shot out and he was pulled up into the back.

"Eeek! What?" Then he saw who it was. "Rosen! I should have guessed!" And he was cut off as Rosen kissed him hard, holding him by the neck and buttocks. "Darling!" He struggled, "Let go! I am on duty! Rosen!" But the pilot was having none of it, he continued to kiss with his usual force.

"Stop fighting!" Rosen said as he loosened Pfirsich's jacket and dropped it on the floor of the half-track.

"Darling! Darling, my clothes!" With Pfirsich distracted by the care of his wardrobe it was comparatively easy for Rosen to open his shirt and unfasten his trousers. He pulled at Pfirsich's cock, roughly but not roughly enough to cause pain - not this time - until orgasm swept through him.

Pfirsich slid to his knees, in truth he could hardly stand, resting his hands on Rosen's slim hips. Rosen leaned back so that he was supported by boxes of supplies. Pfirsich opened his lover's trousers and caressed the long hard cock with his hand. "We shouldn't do this, Rosen. It's inappropriate and a stupid risk."

Pfirsich covered the cockhead with his mouth, caressing it with his tongue, tasting it. Then he took it into his throat, a skill he had learned long ago and something he knew excited Rosen beyond endurance, so much so that he wouldn't be able to hold out for more than a minute or so. He felt Rosen's pubic hair against his mouth and lips, the full scrotum against his chin; Rosen smelled aroused, exciting, and Pfirsich felt that excitement take over his mind. He loved doing this, adored it, to slow Rosen down he tickled the tight forbidden portal of his arse. Before long the slim thighs were trembling with the shock of release.

Pfirsich swallowed a couple of times then stood up, wiping his mouth delicately with a lace edged handkerchief. He frowned and Rosen grinned at him, not at all put out. Maybe his state of deshabille accounted for that, but Pfirsich wasn't so sure, the man seemed entirely unrepentant.

"Darling, much as I love you, go back to your unit!" He sighed. "That's an order, dear," he added for good measure. Going slightly pink he pulled his shirt closed and his breeches up. Rosen handed him his jacket, grinning. Still frowning Pfirsich left the lorry, then looked back as he realised that Rosen had still not acknowledged his order.

He came round in front of the vehicle, to see Feldwebel Dichter, hands and arms deep in the machine's engine as usual. Pfirsich felt himself blush, he hoped the man had heard nothing, but Dichter didn't even look up as he passed.

He sighed. Rosen, as usual, couldn't see the danger he was putting them both in. Didn't he realise homosexuals were disappearing all over Germany? Or maybe if he did see the danger, that was part of the pleasure for him? It was possible even that driven by his lust he couldn't see beyond the demands of the moment. Rosen's manners had always needed work, but over the months Pfirsich had concentrated on his fiancé's attitude to people other than himself. Now he was paying for his consideration.

Keeping a careful look round for his shameless lover he continued with his accustomed inspection of the camp. The 469th was unusually quiet, which would normally be something for which to be grateful; today it would be helpful if he had other people around for protection. He smiled to himself, it did have an amusing side: a game of wits between himself and his Luftikus lover could prove diverting if undeniably dangerous.

Avoiding the filthy flyblown Schütze Bastler he crossed by a rickety balancing beam to the other part of the escarpment to talk to the men on watch. He had to have a watch, the Tommies would be upset if they felt he were ignoring them, their comfortable unofficial cease-fire might fall apart if the formalities were not observed. Besides he liked notice of the occasional visits paid by Udo's relations-by-marriage, the local Tuareg nobility. The watch reported no movement on the plain below, exactly as normal.

He kept clear of the bushes by the path, if Rosen was going to try to grab him again it made sense to stay clear of obvious ambush points. He was unlucky, as he rounded the next outcropping he felt a familiar hand fall on the back of his neck and he was hustled into a fairly shallow but convenient cave.

Rosen pushed him further in until the rough rock of the cave scraped against his back and then kissed him, unusually for Rosen the kiss was fairly gentle. Pfirsich was surprised into responding rather than fighting, this he put down to the fact that he was being assaulted by the smell of warm and clean Rosen. He didn't know how Rosen could do this to him, bring him to boiling point merely by touch.

Even on that fateful day in Paris he'd felt the man's magnetism, and for some weeks he had known the hell of a helpless sexual attraction to a man he didn't even like. Even now, his irritation with Rosen's thoughtlessness could overcome all other feelings for him, if only for a moment.

"This is foolish, dear heart," he murmured into Rosen's mouth.

"Yes." Rosen grinned at him, not at all concerned.

"And you know how I feel about being fingered in public."

"You hate it." Rosen returned his attentions to Pfirsich's mouth, and he responded eagerly. Without warning Rosen pulled away, smiling cruelly. "See you later!"

"Oh!" Pfirsich almost screamed. He wanted something, anything, most of all he wanted to call Rosen back to finish what he had started. After a manful struggle he resisted the urge. Pfirsich was hard, aching, it was several minutes before his erection subsided and he was able to continue with his inspection without embarrassment.

Pfirsich reached the tent of the battalion prisoner/mascot, Captain Jeff Holz, also editor of the camp newspaper, without further incident.

Just to be annoying today the Ami spoke English. "You OK?"

"Danke, ja."

Jeff was too much a soldier, albeit in a different army, to tell a senior officer that he didn't believe him but his expression said what his words couldn't. Jeff changed to German, whether it was in deference to his mood Pfirsich couldn't tell, he said: "You need to see the paper? Here's the proofs, mind you don't smudge your fingers on the ink."

Pfirsich pulled off his gloves and delicately held up the page. 'Saucepan missing from mess - I'm innocent claims cook.' Pfirsich hadn't the faintest idea where Jeff dreamed up these items, but the paper was good for morale. He studied the crossword with interest.

"Seventeen down, 'Famous Roman Emperor'? Would that be Konstantin by any chance?"

Jeff's face was pure innocence. "I thought I'd try and include something educational."

Pfirsich picked up Jeff's red pen. "Don't we have units in Konstantin?"

"Really?"

Pfirsich smiled and drew a big X over the crossword. "Better luck next time."

"You want some of Krüger's appalling coffee?" Jeff asked.

"Do you have tea?" Pfirsich did not like coffee.

"Yeah, I suppose." And they were back to English again.

He relaxed a little, here with Jeff he was safe from more of Rosen's advances, at least for a few more minutes. He had no idea what Jeff would say if he announced he was taking refuge here from his fiancé's attentions. He amused himself with the image for a few moments.

He had been a 175-er all his life, family influence had protected him thus far, even though they found it difficult to accept him. His mother had asked him not to wear his earring, but though it screamed 'faggot' to anyone in the know it was part of what he was. Back in Europe he would be forced into conformity, here on the fringes of the war he could dispense with the official uniform and be himself. The danger was still present, perhaps he deluded himself as to the degree of protection Erwin could give him, but here was the best place for him to be.

Jeff brought the tea, which he drank with appreciation. Really good tea was impossible in North Africa, but it was a kind thought; it was liquid even if it did taste of sand and goats milk, and it was not Krüger's coffee.

Several times he thought Jeff might say something, and finally the PoW did speak. "You seem tense."

"Do I?" Pfirsich had no idea what to say. To deny it would be a blatant lie and yet to agree would invite only further questions, something he could ill afford.

He finished his tea and stood. "Danke, Jeff dear. That was very nice. I would stay longer but I have work to do."

"Any time, Colonel."

He made his way up the steps to his tent on the top of the rise above the escarpment, meaning to continue with the weary round of paperwork expected of him, reports and more reports, forms and endless requisitions, pointless because none of the items requested ever arrived. It was almost as if the Allies had a secret hotline telling them when ships would be leaving Italy. He sighed. He did the best he could, for his brother and in his own way for Germany, but he was beginning to believe it wouldn't be enough.

He looked about for the report he was working on, located it and sat down at his desk.

Someone threw their arms round his chest then bit his ear.

"Heda zuckerarsch!"

"Rosen!" His erection was back as though it had never gone away. "But what about..."

"Stummel? I sent him off to do errands."

"And everyone else?"

"They're busy. They got duties, don't they?"

"Darling! So have you, and so have I!"

"Later."

"Darling..."

"Later!"

"Rosen!"

Rosen slipped a hand into his shirt and unfastened the buttons swiftly following this with the belt and the trousers. Doing this with one hand was an impressive feat, but Pfirsich supposed it was a skill, like knife throwing, one picked up in the Hamburg waterfront gangs. Pfirsich found some elements of Rosen's past difficult to accept, particularly his membership of the Hitler Youth.

Now Pfirsich had other things to think about, his fiancé's hand touching him, rough, almost edging into cruelty, but skilled for all that.

Rosen pulled him up and kicking the stool out of the way he bent Pfirsich over the desk. Pfirsich was concerned, he wasn't sure an Army issue-for-North-Africa desk would take his weight, especially not with what Rosen had in mind, but as the pilot wasn't about to indulge in conversation on the subject he would have to risk it.

He felt Rosen open him swiftly; what with he wasn't sure, but at least he was bothering with lubrication. Then he felt the hardness of Rosen's cock press into him, not too fast this time and he groaned in appreciation. His shirt raised over his hips, his trousers once more down round his knees he felt himself held in place by an implacable strength. Knowing this to be an illusion he gave himself up to the delicious fantasy, a fantasy enhanced when Rosen, in his passion, bit down on Pfirsich's neck. The slight pain added to the sensations within him, all building to a crescendo of lust and pleasure, and finally the outpouring of orgasm, Rosen's hand still on him, Rosen's smell in his nostrils.

He unwound slowly. What power Rosen had in him to make Pfirsich humiliate himself in this way he didn't know, but it existed and all he could do was live with it.

Rosen had been holding him during orgasm but even so his trousers and shirt were stained, spotted with semen. He would have to change them and that made work, apart from the fact that Udo would guess what the marks were. He sighed. "Rosen? Rosen dear, will you help me with my boots?"

"Of course," he did so, and once they were off Pfirsich stripped quickly. He looked up to find Rosen staring at him appreciatively. "Gott! You are so beautiful. You are the most beautiful human being I have ever seen." In any other mouth it would have been trite, or sounded as if the speaker were fishing for compliments, but from Rosen it was as if he had been told the secret of eternal life.

Pfirsich blushed. "I have to wash, after that."

Rosen slid his own shirt off, his dark chest hair a contrast to his pale skin, pale where the sun had not touched it. When they had first met Rosen had been fair all over. Silently Pfirsich handed Rosen the cloth expecting him to wash himself. He was surprised when Rosen took hold of him and scrubbed vigorously and effectively. He stood, allowing the man to wash him, feeling the cool roughness of the cloth on his body, down his back and sides, even between his legs then down his thighs and back up again. The movement of the cloth stopped and Rosen stood close to him, dabbling his fingers in the semen smeared on his arse. "I don't want to clean this off you," he murmured, softly.

Pfirsich was confused for a moment, sentimentality from his fiancé? "You must," he said firmly.

Rosen did as he was asked, putting on an amusing show of mutiny as he did so. "Clean," he said at last.

Pfirsich rinsed out the cloth and did the same for Rosen, allowing himself the luxury of looking at the man he loved. Rosen was almost as tall as he, black hair, and dark brown eyes. His face was open, frank, and even stark naked, when men looked at their most foolish, his personality was compelling.

Rosen smiled, pulling Pfirsich into his arms, kissing him passionately but this time with a modicum of respect. "Dress," Pfirsich ordered, pulling back with an effort. He handed Rosen his trousers. "Clean shirt, Rosen dear." He threw one of his own, knowing any slight differences between that and the Luftwaffe issue would be explained by Rosen's habit of adapting his uniforms. Nothing Rosen wore was strictly regulation.

It was in his mind to suggest that Rosen return to his unit, but knew it would be a waste of breath. He didn't bother, Schwabians never wasted anything. "I have to do some work," he spoke firmly, picking up his stool as he did so. He knew Rosen was watching him as he pulled the first report off the pile and started to read, but he resisted the temptation to turn and look, refusing to become ensnared in the man's machinations once again.

He was forced to look round when he dropped his pen. Rosen was lying on the bed, fast asleep, and Pfirsich relaxed. He had to admit, much as he adored Rosen the man was not a comfortable lover, especially for one such as himself. Pfirsich wanted a settled, stable life and he never knew quite what that Springinsfeld was going to do next. Babette had called him a 'luftmensch', and Pfirsich imagined she meant the same thing.

He frowned. He still didn't understand what had possessed Rosen that he would inveigle his fiancé into a woman's bed, and it still irritated him that he had allowed it to happen. Still the ultimate result, his son Mani, had been entirely positive. Maybe Babette would allow the baby to visit again soon.

In a happier frame of mind he set to work, but no sooner was his concentration complete than Udo came in with a plate and cutlery. "Lunch, Herr Oberst." Then the orderly saw Rosen still asleep on the bed. "Uh...Herr Oberst, he's still here."

"I know." Just a touch of irony coloured Pfirsich's voice, but nevertheless Udo looked surprised to hear it.

"Herr Oberst, will he want lunch?"

"Only if he wakes up. The poor dear was flying night raids so I imagine he's tired." Although that wasn't the only reason for Rosen's exhaustion thought Pfirsich He saw Udo frown at the spotted trousers, clearly putting two and two together.

Rosen was still asleep on his bed when Pfirsich left for the afternoon inspection. He was a little later than he usually expected to be, some delayed paperwork about the British dead (his was a gravedigging unit after all) had arrived from Berlin and they wanted a reply yesterday, as usual.

The heat was unbearable; the camp was silent, no-one having the energy to cause mischief let alone work. He seemed to be the only thing moving, and strolled through the camp without anything really registering on his mind. He walked up to the escarpment again, careful this time to give the cave a wide berth just in case Rosen was planning a repeat of his trick of the morning. As he passed it he heard the soft crunch of a boot on stone and smiled to himself.

He would never have believed that Rosen could get down from the escarpment to the tumbled rocks at the bottom so quickly and without being seen. Pfirsich was shoved into the comparative shadow of an overhang. "Rosen! Rosen, how did you do that?" he asked, exasperated.

"Show you later."

"You were asleep," said Pfirsich, mildly accusing.

"I heard you leave," Rosen kissed him soundly.

Pfirsich put up a token resistance, but finally let Rosen have his own way entirely, exulting as he did so in the sensation of being held, overpowered, touched intimately, by this man.

The flash of light barely registered on his overwrought senses, then he saw it again. Then he realised what it meant - they were being observed. Sentries from the British camp had field glasses trained on them and had been watching for some time.

With difficulty he unglued Rosen from him. "They're watching us!" He left, fuming.

By some trick of the desert air he heard: "Oh! An' it were just getting good!" from the English below. He winced with embarrassment as Rosen gave them a cheeky wave. They cheered, definite appreciation, not the mockery he had expected. He could only hope they wouldn't tell their Colonel, a vain hope at best.

Rosen followed. Pfirsich glared at him, "You just embarrassed me in public! One could believe it your mission in life."

"Let me make it up to you?"

Pfirsich gave him a sceptical look, a blend of irritation and disbelief. "How?" he asked.

"You'll find out later," replied Rosen, disappearing off down the track.

"Rosen! Darling, what do you mean? I haven't agreed..." But he was gone. There were moments when Pfirsich could stamp with frustration. Luckily his natural good manners usually intervened before the thought became the deed; but on this occasion he had come perilously close. He stifled a sigh and finished his inspection in record time, returning to his tent on top of the hill to find Udo laying out fresh clothes.

"What are you doing, mein Leiber?"

"The Oberleutnant tells me he is taking you somewhere. You'll need to change."

Three sets of clothes in one day, ridiculous considering how short of water they were. "Udo..."

"That's what he said."

For a moment Pfirsich considered denying everything. He dropped heavily and wearily onto his bed, which creaked in protest at the mistreatment.

"Herr Oberst, is he giving you a hard time?"

Pfirsich flashed his orderly a look which implied that if he was being impertinent there would be trouble, but the little man seemed oblivious to the double entendre. "You could say that," he admitted. That was as far as he would go, a gentleman never discussed his private life with anyone. "Did Oberleutnant Kavalier say where he is taking me?"

"Nein, Herr Oberst. But he's gone to get his plane."

"His plane?"

"Not his duty plane, that written off Stuka that's not on any of the property lists." Schmidt added, "He wouldn't endanger you, Herr Oberst."

"Wouldn't he?" After today Pfirsich wasn't so sure. But after a few moments rest he allowed Udo to help him with his boots and pulled his uniform off, removing his medals and dropping them on the desk. He turned them over in his fingers: Iron Cross second class for the hateful spying in England; wound badge for stupidly taking his unit into battle; and Iron Cross first class for taking eleven prisoners alone with a Schmeisser. (Their breaking grandmother's teapot had caused him to lose his temper, something he always regretted.)

He wasn't proud of any of his medals, but his brother seemed to be and insisted he wear them. It was strange, he accepted medals as proofs of Erwin's courage and Rosen's, but knowing how he had won his own, if won was the right term, devalued them in his own eyes. War was for fools and little boys.

He washed again, he hated putting clean clothes on without, and dressed: clean breeches, shirt and jacket. Where on earth was Rosen planning on taking him? Knowing that Springinsfeld it could be anywhere. He busied himself with small tasks, the sort of thing that could wait, but they didn't distract him, he was on edge, waiting.

Pfirsich was not a man given to clandestine listening but he could hear two of his men talking. "What's the matter mit dem Alten?" said one. He couldn't quite make out whom.

"Why?" asked another. It was their Ami prisoner in his old fashioned German.

"He's creeping about like a cat on hot bricks."

"Isn't he always like that?" said Jeff.

"Have you seen Rosen?" asked the first, whom he at last identified as Dichter, the mechanic.

"Who?" said Jeff.

"Oberleutnant Kavalier, Luftwaffe."

"Oh, him! The one who's in love with himself. Yes, I've seen him." Inside the tent Pfirsich didn't know whether to be annoyed or amused: he supposed Rosen had that effect on some people. Jeff went on, "He's very popular with the men, I've seen any number of them talking to him."

"Scheiße! He's even more popular with the Herr Oberst, he claims to be engaged to him." There was a pause, "Zum Teufel! If Kavalier's been bribing us to keep clear of them again and I've missed out..." Dichter sounded both amused and irritated.

Pfirsich stopped listening. So that was why the camp had been so quiet!

Rosen chose that moment to arrive, he was dressed in his most spectacular uniform, the one of which it had been truly said that it would make Göring jealous. It suited his dashing demeanour perfectly and despite his annoyance Pfirsich found himself checking that his own appearance would not let this peacock down.

One might almost believe that Rosen had been taking lessons in etiquette; Pfirsich would not have believed he could be so polite or so attentive. The pilot helped him into the Stuka and flew with delicate precision, none of his usual panache, and stayed clear of Tommy flak.

Pfirsich knew the ground well enough to know that they were flying away from current theatres of war over land nominally under German control, though that control was tenuous at best as Erwin had confided to him. "Where are we going, dear?" Pfirsich asked, but Rosen declined to answer. The pilot continued to fly, as carefully as if his passenger were an elderly dowager, for some twenty minutes longer, then descended slowly. He landed on an airstrip next to a coastal town; Pfirsich noted that the place had no cargo capacity and sighed. He was starting to think like Erwin.

Rosen led the way to a Land Rover, presumably captured from the British, and they drove into the town. Leaving the car in a motor pool, under the not-very vigilant eye of a guard the pilot led Pfirsich into the souk at length arriving at a nondescript door in a backstreet.

He knocked at the door, a very particular code, or so it seemed. A window in the door opened and a man spoke and Rosen replied. As they went through Pfirsich remarked, "I didn't know you spoke Arabic, dear."

"I don't."

"You answered him," he pointed out.

"I know. I don't know what the words mean, though."

"Rosen, what is this place?"

"It's a kind of hotel," he was told.

Pfirsich looked round to see a luxuriously furnished room, a bar at one end and pale-coloured chairs dotted around low tables. Fans turned lazily overhead. There was a murmur of conversation and Pfirsich could see a few people, officers and civilians, sitting talking quietly.

"Oh," was the only response he could dredge up.

"Come along," Rosen led the way to the bar.

Coinciding exactly with their arrival a barman appeared. "Oberleutnant Kavalier," the young man grinned. "We haven't seen you for a while."

"No? Hamid, this is Oberst Rommel."

The barman looked politely interested, clearly the name meant nothing to him and Pfirsich was reassured; he sometimes worried about what Rosen said to others.

"What would you like, Pfirsich? Champagne?"

"You choose, dear," he was distracted by looking at the unmistakably Eastern decorations, very beautiful blue and gold designs.

Rosen handed Pfirsich a glass and he sipped experimentally, remembering too late that he didn't really like wine. Besides, drinking it on an empty stomach might well start him dancing on tables. Rosen led him to a secluded corner and sat down.

Hamid brought the champagne in its ice bucket and left it beside them. "Herr Oberleutnant, the arrangements you asked for have been made for you." He dropped something into Rosen's hand and walked away.

"Danke, Hamid."

Pfirsich frowned, "What arrangements, dear? What is this place?"

"I told you it's a sort of hotel. A very private, exclusive hotel."

Pfirsich jumped to the obvious conclusion. "A brothel."

"Not exactly. Those arrangements can be made, but that's not what it is. It's a meeting place for people whose business can't be conducted in public."

"Such as?"

"Spies, negotiators, gunrunners, black marketeers..."

"Enough! I already know too much for comfort."

"...and men who prefer that their relationships remain discreet. I thought it might make a change from Madame Dompteure's place."

Pfirsich sipped his wine reflectively, knowing that once again he was in Rosen's hands - but that had been true since Paris. "And what are these 'arrangements', dear?"

The pilot reached out and opened Pfirsich's hand, dropping a key onto his palm. "Room key," Rosen said, with a lazy grin. "You ready?"

"Well, I..."

"This way," Rosen said, not allowing him to finish, picking up the bottle as he went. Key held tight Pfirsich followed, sure that every eye in the room was on them as they left.

The stairs were well lit and thickly carpeted, there was no-one about for which Pfirsich was very thankful. Their room was on the top floor, and Pfirsich snorted to himself; Rosen seemed to have a habit of choosing eyries for their trysts, their first time together had been on the third floor a very cheap hotel in Paris. This place was nothing like it. The room was opulent, very beautiful and luxurious and stank of incense, after one sniff Pfirsich knew he would reek of it for days. He locked the door behind them, knowing that Rosen would never think of it.

He half expected Rosen to leap on him at once, it would be in keeping with his usual habits. Today he seemed to have decided to behave like a gentleman, though Pfirsich suspected that the strain would probably kill him. Rosen, with the perfect manners of a valet assisted him with the removal of his jacket. He folded it and placed it neatly on a chair with his own. Pfirsich would have taken off his peach coloured scarf but as he moved to unwind it Rosen held his wrist, kissing it meaningfully. He was also a little surprised when Rosen handed him back his riding crop, kissing that, also. It seemed odd to be carrying such a thing to the table; but he was helped to his seat and he put it down beside his plate.

The meal was lightly spiced Arabic food, rice and almonds, chicken; nothing too heavy. He ate sparingly even so, he fully realised where Rosen's careful plans were leading and he had no intention of attempting that on a full stomach. It was an odd meal, they ate almost in silence, but he noticed that Rosen kept glancing at him and looking away.

"What's wrong, mein Schatz?" he asked, finally.

"Nothing, why?" They ate in silence for a few moments more, then Rosen said, "Have you ever hit anybody with that?" He indicated the riding crop.

"No!" Then he thought again, "Yes, once. I hit a man who deserved it."

"Did he like it?"

"Like it? Darling, no! Rosen, are you trying to tell me something?"

"Well, yes."

Pfirsich was shocked, "Melvin! I couldn't!"

"Not even when I drive you mad?"

Pfirsich opened his mouth to answer, then closed it again. It was true, there were times he was tempted to lash out and damn the consequences. "How did you know?"

"It's the way you hold it."

Suddenly Pfirsich realised, "It excites you, doesn't it?"

"Yes."

Pfirsich pushed back his chair and went to stare out of the window at the busy souk below. "What do you want of me?" he asked.

"Want?"

"If you want me to hit you, I have to tell you that I cannot."

"Not even if you know I want you to?" Though Rosen spoke lightly, the question was serious.

"Not even then. I might lose my temper and really hurt you. I wouldn't be able to forgive myself."

He felt Rosen's arms slide round his waist. "I love you," Rosen told him.

"Even though I won't give you this?" Pfirsich said.

"It's interesting that there's something you won't do for me."

"You're just sorry it's that," remarked Pfirsich, caressing Rosen's hands and arms.

"Hell, darling! A man's got to have some regrets, I just thought I'd ask." He held Pfirsich for a while, unmoving, then kissed and licked the back of his neck at the hairline. Pfirsich gasped softly leaning back into the embrace, and Rosen undid his lover's tie and the buttons on his shirt, exposing his broad chest. "I always seem to be coming at you from behind," remarked Rosen casually. "The way your arse looks in those breeches, it leads me astray."

"Rosen, dear!"

"It does!"

"My love, are you suggesting I wear something else?" asked Pfirsich.

"Never!"

"Then, Herr Oberleutnant, you should have more self-control." Pfirsich stepped out of Rosen's embrace and picked up his glass. Let Rosen sweat.

"You cock-tease!" It had been a moment before Rosen could come up with a suitable phrase.

"Am I, Herr Oberleutnant? You mean you didn't bring me here to discuss philosophy?"

"You know damn well I didn't," Rosen advanced slowly.

Pfirsich backed away slowly towards the bed.

Rosen asked, "Are you leading me up the garden path?"

"Across the bedroom it looks to me," replied Pfirsich. By now he had reached the bed, a modern four-poster, and Pfirsich leaned against one of the posts, smiling lazily. "Is there something you want, Herr Oberleutnant?"

"There is, Herr Oberst."

"Oh?" Pfirsich knew he was a picture of innocence despite his tousled fair hair and the open shirt. Rosen took the wineglass out of his hand, his delicacy that of a man goaded beyond endurance. He put it down on the bench at the bottom of the bed. "You haven't told me what you want, Herr Oberleutnant," Pfirsich pointed out, gently.

"I'm going to fuck you through the bed."

"Is that what you want?"

"Damn you, pricktease Army officer! Yes, it is!"

"You better help me with my boots, then."

Rosen sighed, "If you didn't insist on boots a size too small it wouldn't be necessary to have help."

"Allow a man his vanity, Oberleutnant."

"If you must." Rosen did as he was asked, throwing the boots across the room once he'd removed them. Then he turned back to Pfirsich, still leaning against the bedpost. He grabbed him by the waist and kissed him violently. Pfirsich's hands slid round Rosen, he melted immediately only pulling away to breathe because he must.

"That is so good!" said Rosen. "Whoever taught you knew what he was doing." Rosen always took it for granted that he was by no means the first man in Pfirsich's life, but he seldom remarked on it other than to pay an occasional compliment.

"Ja, good," agreed Pfirsich, drawing his lover back into a close embrace.

"You have the most wonderful mouth," commented Rosen, breathlessly. "So sweet and fine."

Rosen returned to it, this time pushing Pfirsich backwards to the bed and slowly down onto it. As he did so he unfastened the Pfirsich's belt and breeches, fondling the cock and balls beneath the cloth as he did so. Pfirsich gasped aloud. "Good?" Rosen asked.

Pfirsich nodded helplessly, he couldn't speak.

"It'll get better yet," he was promised. With that Rosen pulled breeches and peach coloured silk drawers down over his hips in one movement.

Rosen clamped his mouth over the straining cock, taking it into his throat. Pfirsich gave a strangled yell, part pleasure and part pain. Rosen kept the suction tight for a time, but before Pfirsich reached orgasm he let him go.

"Oh Gott!" said Pfirsich as soon as he could speak, "Melvin!"

"Good?"

"Yes. Different...mph!" Rosen kissed him again, cutting off anything else he might have to say. As soon as his mouth was freed Pfirsich continued. "Do you want me to return the compliment?"

"I want to fuck you," growled Rosen.

"Oh, yes?" Pfirsich teased, "You mentioned that before." He rolled onto his face.

"No, on your back," Rosen grabbed a wrist, and rolled him back, capturing his mouth once again.

Pfirsich stretched lazily, feeling Rosen's hands exploring him, running over his chest to pinch his nipples, down his belly to his widespread thighs, up between them to cup his balls and pull gently at them. He saw Rosen look up at him and smile, and smiled back sharing his pleasure, his delight. He spread his legs wider.

Rosen had obviously had very careful preparations made. There was a jar of grease open in the drawer by the bed; Rosen gave an ironic grin as he picked it up, and then turned very serious as he opened his lover's body. To assist him Pfirsich raised one knee, Rosen was lying on the other one. It was an unusual position for him, penetration felt different even with just fingers, and he wondered what Rosen's cock would feel like. A flash of lust ripped through him and he groaned aloud.

"Rosen! Oh, Gott! Rosen, do it!"

"You want me to fuck you?" Rosen asked. And how could he sound so normal?

"Yes!"

"Then ask me, Pfirsich. Tell me what you want."

Pfirsich took a deep breath, "Melvin Gonville Ramsbottom! For Christ's sake, man! Fuck me, please!"

Swiftly Rosen covered Pfirsich's mouth with his own and slid his ready cock into him. He paused for a second and then thrust deeper in. Pfirsich whimpered, he didn't know if Rosen heard him, but the heavy stroke was repeated. This time he relaxed and Rosen's thrusts grew in speed and power; Pfirsich squirmed, rubbing his cock against the other man's hard stomach.

Finally Pfirsich pulled his mouth away from Rosen's and gave vent to a loud cry, almost a scream, of completion. He felt Rosen's orgasm start, then flood into him, and cried out again, Rosen's pleasure fulfilling his own.

They lay, Rosen was on top of him in a light doze and Pfirsich was aware of the other man's relaxed weight and slow breathing. If he wanted to he could wake his lover, get him to move, but he wasn't particularly uncomfortable. He stroked Rosen idly, valuing the moment because of its rarity. Eventually Rosen stirred, and moved to lie beside him.

"I won't make you beg for it too often," Rosen said, yawning.

"Oh?"

He laughed, "Did you hear yourself? I suppose there might be a few very old and deaf people in Berlin who didn't hear you, but I doubt it."

Immediately Pfirsich was concerned, "Was I that bad? I know I get loud when I'm on my back."

"No, I'm just teasing."

Pfirsich sighed. "We should get back."

"Can't your XO cope for one night?"

"I'd rather not..."

"He told me he could," Rosen pointed out, reasonably.

"Melvin! You must stop bribing my men."

"Zum Teufel! Pfirsich, how else are we going to get any time together?"

"It's too risky, my love. What if the Nazis come calling, and someone should say the wrong thing?"

"Ach je, things are getting odd in our country, Pfirsich."

"Who knows that better than I? At least you don't have to meet these fiends socially."

"'Fiends'? They're politicians so they're liars, but 'fiends'?"

"What makes you think they're liars?"

Rosen laughed, "I'm half-English, remember? All Englishmen know politicians are liars. What's biting you?"

"I have reason to believe, though I can't prove it, that the Nazis are carrying out their promises in a particularly nasty way." Pfirsich sighed, "Rosen, you know how I am with Erwin?"

"Of course," Rosen sounded resigned about it, but not pleased.

"There's something that frightens me even more than the danger he puts himself in."

"What's that?"

"He's popular and he's not one of them. They see that as a threat. And they are dangerous when threatened."

"Forget Erwin. Stay with me tonight."

Pfirsich sighed and gave in to temptation. "Very well, darling. I'll stay. Just this once."

-Ende-


End file.
